“I’m not joking.”
By the look on his face, Deirdre knew he wasn’t. Anders stared at him, then suddenly grinned.
“I’m starting to like the way you think. Better to do something, however bonkers, than to sit around on your bum. Mind if I join you on your little hunt?”
Beltan nodded. “Your help would be welcome indeed.”
An alarm sounded in Deirdre’s skull. She gripped Beltan’s arm. “We don’t know how many Scirathi are still on Earth. Are you sure you want to do this?”
“I can’t just wait here, Deirdre. I need something to do. And this can help us, you know it can.” His expression softened a fraction. “Don’t worry. We won’t take unnecessary risks.”
“Come on, mate,” Anders said, putting on his suit coat. “Let’s go see if we can nab ourselves a sorcerer.”
Once they had gone, Deirdre spent the remainder of the afternoon combing through the documents on her desk–ostensibly trying to find any clues she might have missed, but mostly trying not to think about Anders and Beltan, or what might be happening to them.
They’re big boys, Deirdre. They can take care of themselves.
Then why did she feel like she needed to run after them and protect them? Especially Anders. He was strong. He had a gun, and he was trained to use it. But he didn’t have experience facing enemies with magical powers, not like Beltan did. Except that wasn’t true; Anders had taken out the one sorcerer at the Tube station.
Deirdre rose and moved across the office. He had left the sorcerer’s gold mask on his desk. She picked it up, touching the bullet hole between the mask’s eye slits. What if that had been a lucky shot? Anders might not be so fortunate the next time he came face‑to‑face with a sorcerer. Or make that sorcerers. She went back to her desk, propped up the mask against a stack of papers so that its serene gold face seemed to gaze at her, and kept working as the wall clock ticked away the silent seconds.
The back of her neck tingled, and she looked up.
Sasha stood in the doorway, slender arms folded, leaning against the doorjamb.
Deirdre gasped. “How long have you been there?”
“Just a minute or two,” Sasha said, her red lips parting in a smile. “I was watching you.”
Deirdre scowled, now more annoyed than startled. “You shouldn’t do that.”
“I know. I’m a naughty girl. But you look so adorable when you’re working manically, I couldn’t resist.”
“I was probably picking my nose,” Deirdre said.
“If only. I would have snapped a picture.” Sasha gestured to the tiny digital camera that dangled from a silver chain around her neck. She wore it all the time these days, like a piece of jewelry, and was constantly catching people in compromising positions and displaying the resulting snapshots on her computer. “Do you mind if I come in?”
Before Deirdre could answer, Sasha sauntered languidly– she never merely walked–into the office. Today’s fashion included saffron slacks and a fluttery chartreuse top that made her look like an exotic bird. Her coffee‑with‑cream skin gave off a healthy glow despite the office’s fluorescent lights, which made Deirdre–who wasn’t exactly well acquainted with the sun these days–look like she had consumption.
After all their years working together, Deirdre still wasn’t entirely certain what Sasha did for the Seekers. She was an attachй to the Director of Operations, which meant these days she spent most of her time with Richard Nakamura. Although precisely what she did for Nakamura, Deirdre couldn’t say. All she knew was that, more than any other Seeker, Sasha seemed to have her finger on the pulse of the organization. Nothing seemed to happen that she didn’t know about first, or know more juicy details about than anybody else.
Probably because she’s always spying on people. And who knows? Maybe that’s her real job.
Deirdre wasn’t worried. Nothing she was doing here was clandestine. In fact, she had already begun to draft a preliminary report on the events of the last thirty‑six hours for Nakamura. Deirdre might as well give Sasha a copy since she was there. She opened the document on her computer and clicked PRINT.
“So what have we here?” Sasha said when Deirdre handed her the copy, still warm from the printer.
“A draft of a report I’m writing for Nakamura, to keep him apprised of what we’re doing.” Deirdre sat on the edge of her desk.
Sasha folded the papers without reading them. “That’s good of you, but it’s not necessary. You’re Echelon 7, Deirdre. You’ve got free rein on this mission–it’s under your complete control. There’s no need for you to submit a report until you deem the case is closed.”
Deirdre wasn’t sure whether those words were reassuring or not. It was good to know she wasn’t going to be second‑guessed all the time. On the other hand, she wasn’t entirely certain she knew what she was doing here. How did the Desiderata apply when the otherworldly being you had vowed not to interfere with also happened to be a dear friend you had vowed to help? It was hard to rely solely on one’s own judgment.
“Take the report to Nakamura anyway,” Deirdre said. “I don’t want there to be any secrets here.”
“Funny you should mention secrets,” Sasha purred. “That’s just what I came to talk to you about.”
Deirdre gripped her bear claw necklace. “What do you mean?”
Sasha glanced at the door, then drew in close, her expression no longer one of sly amusement, but rather solemn. “Do you remember how I once told you to keep your curiosity outside the Seekers, that it was better not to turn up stones left untouched?”
Deirdre felt a chill pass through her. She could only nod.
“Well, maybe it’s time to start turning up a few of those stones after all.”
“What are you talking about? What stones?”
Sasha picked up the gold mask and ran a long finger over it. “So this is one of the masks they wear. Those sorcerers you’ve written about in your reports. It’s so much more beautiful than I ever would have thought. Only it covers ugliness, doesn’t it? Ugliness and hate.”
None of this made any sense. Deirdre ran a hand through her close‑cropped hair. “Sasha, what is this really about?”
The other woman was silent for a time. Finally she spoke in a low voice. “The sorcerers aren’t the only organization that requires its members to wear masks, Deirdre. Sometimes the Seekers do, too. And you can’t always know what’s behind those masks. Sometimes it’s good. Sometimes they’re keeping secrets to protect you. And sometimes . . .”
Deirdre was sweating, but she felt cold. “What do you know, Sasha? If you know something, you have to tell me.”
Sasha shook her head. “All I know is that there are secrets. Things that most of us don’t know, that others don’t want us to know.”
“Secrets like what?”
Sasha set down the mask. “This was a mistake. I’ve told more than I should have. But I just wanted you to . . . you need to keep your eyes open, that’s all.” She started toward the door.
Deirdre stood up, her heart thudding in her chest. “Sasha, please. You’ve got to tell me what you’re talking about.”
Sasha hesitated, then glanced over her shoulder, her dark eyes unreadable. “Has Anders ever told you why he can carry a gun when no other Seeker is allowed to?”
Deirdre could only stare.
“Take care of yourself, honey,” Sasha said, then headed out the door, leaving Deirdre alone.
22.
It was late. Deirdre gazed out the window of her flat, watching as rain snaked in rivulets down the panes. She held a glass of scotch in her hand; she hadn’t taken a sip since she poured it two hours ago.